Justin Adams / Juldeh Camara
Tell No Lies

In its initial moments, Sahara — the opening track on Tell No Lies,
Justin Adams and Juldeh Camara’s sophomore set — is likely to inspire a feeling
of déja vu. Within the span of 45 seconds, Adams rips an accompaniment on his guitar
that liberally quotes from Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin. In the process, he
offers a short thesis on the convergence of blues, rock, and West African music
that is more precise and revealing than he probably realized.

Soul Science — the previous collaboration between Adams and Camara —
provided listeners with an exploration of modern and traditional fare from
Gambia as well as the African desert that was spirited but respectful. On the
outing, Adams displayed his mastery of various musical forms, freely following Camara’s rifti grooves through some very interesting territory. The similarities
between Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir and what the two men had conjured were
striking. At the very least, it made an airtight case that the British quartet
was far ahead of its time when it had begun to explore sub-Saharan textures.

Yet, it is a disservice to Adams and Camara to call their music a curiosity.
After all, it does more than simply locate the roots of Led Zeppelin’s
majestic-sounding compositions. Adams, of course, has been a member of Robert Plant’s backing band for several years, but his love of North African music goes
well beyond anything that Plant has incorporated into his own solo work.

For certain, while crafting Tell No Lies, Adams and Camara had a tough
act to follow. Soul Science, the album’s predecessor, won the prestigious
BBC Radio 3 World Music Award, which inevitably made expectations for the duo’s
follow-up recording exceedingly high. Thankfully, in every respect, Tell No
Lies is a better album. Adams, Camara, and returning percussionist Salah
Dawson Miller have developed the kind of sensitive telepathy that allows them to
anticipate and follow each other through the twists and turns of their
compositions.

On Tell No Lies, Camara in particular seems much more willing to take
risks. The music that flows from his rifti is staggering. There are moments when
he sticks with a style of playing that is more traditional, and when he does,
the high-wailing caterwaul of his instrument establishes a drone over which
Adams shreds his guitar. More often than not, however, Camara uses his rifti to
explore R&B expressions in ways that have to be heard to be believed. At other
times, he invokes sounds that recall Muddy Waters with a bad hangover, as if he
is trying to answer the question B.B. King’s famously posed: How blue can you
get? Adams also frequently takes the lead by spinning Sufi-derived dance
textures that weave in and out of Camara’s apocalyptic rhythms. Adams’ raw,
aggressive, sculptural soundscapes give Camara and Dawson the chance to really
go outside the main melody. The result is some of the most thrilling
improvisational music in recent memory.

Tell No Lies is much heavier than Soul Science. Whether they are
nailing a Bo Diddley-inspired rhythmic cadence (Nangu Sobeh) or exploring
gentler grooves (Chukaloy Dayoy), Adams and Camara perform with skill and
commitment, forming songs that are dazzling to hear. For those who are
unfamiliar with music from the African desert, it might take awhile to acclimate
to Tell No Lies’ contents. Yet, the rewards of perseverance are more than
worth it. ½